Time
by NCCJFAN
Summary: COMPANION PIECE TO SIGNIFICANT THINGS. This time Woody's waiting...on what the doctor says about Jordan.
1. Dividing Time

It's funny how time can be divided.

It can be broken down into centuries and decades; years and months; weeks and days; minutes and hours.

And with each deafening tick of the clock, it can even be broken down further...into seconds...whose speed can only be matched with the quickness of a person's thoughts.

Or the slow weariness of waiting.

Which Woody was feeling right now, in the waiting area of the emergency room. He was waiting on the doctor to give him some word on Jordan. How she was, what was wrong...will she be okay?

Most people think centuries, with their one hundred year span, can take nearly a millennia to happen. Or decades. Woody knew these people were wrong. Seconds and minutes can take much longer when you're waiting .... Needing information that is not coming quickly enough.

Information that your whole future hangs on.

He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. It had been an hour and no word from the doctor. He began to pace.

"Still no word?" came a voice from behind him. It was Garret.

"No. Not yet."

"I'm sure he'll be out soon to talk with you. And I'm sure Jordan's fine," Garret said as he sat down on the couch to wait with the detective.

"I hope so," Woody replied, sitting down on the couch beside Garret. Woody leaned forward and put his head in his hands, covering his face. He was trying to be optimistic.....but this was hard. It had been hard seeing her writhing in pain and knowing there was nothing he could do about it. It was even harder waiting for the ambulance.

Of course, his relationship with Jordan hadn't been easy, either. It had been From the beginning. He smiled as he remembered. She didn't like his ties. She didn't like his hair. She had thought him naïve. But for this one instance, time had been on his side. Three years had passed. Three years since she had gone from telling him he had terrible taste in ties to the other night when she had told him she loved him. Woody smiled to himself. So much time...and yet so little. He felt like he had gone from hardly knowing her at all to knowing her better than she even knew herself. And felt like she could read his very soul. Time...where had the time gone? And would they have any more of it together?

All of that hinged on what the doctor told him.

Woody sighed and leaned his head back on the couch and shut his eyes. He could see her face clearly in his mind. Her eyes. Her birthmark. Her hair. He chuckled to himself as he remembered when he first joined the Boston PD. When he heard that the ME's name was Jordan Cavanaugh, he fully expected a man to be behind the badge. He had been shocked down to his toes when he was finally introduced to her at that bank robbery. Jordan was many things...but masculine was no where in the description. Brown eyes...small, heart-shaped face, petite, feisty, strong-willed...but her hair. He loved it when it was wavy and for about the last year she had insisted on straightening it. He fussed about it all the time. One day – a Saturday, if he remembered correctly – not too long ago, he had been working on a case. He had gone to the morgue to see her and pick up some files. Nigel said she wasn't there, she had the day off and she had the files at home...finishing up the paperwork. Woody had gone over to her apartment to look at them and found she had just gotten out of the shower. He banged on the door and she had answered it in her robe, her hair a sopping, wet mess down her back. She had let him look at her files while she was getting dressed. He had watched her out of the corner of his eye, as she began to put on her make up and finally reached for the hairdryer and brush. He came up behind her and threatened to cuff both hands behind her back if she so much as touched her hair...it had began drying in the waves and curls that he loved so much.

Surprised, she had fussed that it was none of his business the way she wore her hair...why did it matter to him?

"I like it curly," he explained... "I just think you look cute with it curling around your face."

She had given him one of her Jordan-looks and said "Woody, no woman likes to be called cute. You call your little sister cute. You call your dog cute. You don't call a woman cute."

He had gone over and gently twined a lock of her hair around his fingers. "Okay," he had replied, with a husky note in his voice. "It makes you look sexy. Is that better?"

She had snorted, but let her hair alone. As a matter of fact, he hadn't seen it straight since then.

Woody checked his wrist watch one more time. It had only been fifteen minutes. It was now an hour and fifteen minutes since the ambulance had brought her in. If time had gone this slow without her....how would he make it if there was something seriously wrong with her?

* * *

Garret glanced at Woody from the magazine he was pretending to read. He had watched Jordan and Woody do this strange "mating/dating" dance for a long time. He had been relieved when the two had finally started "officially" seeing each other a few months ago. _Hell, it's about time_, he had thought, as he remembered all the issues they had been through. Her mother's murder. Max leaving. James. Maulden. And then Devan.

Woody had nearly blew it there. Garret didn't know Jordan had it in her psyche to be jealous. Angry, yes. Depressed, yes. Compassionate, yes. Jealous...no. Jordan had never struck him as the jealous type. But she had been. With Woody. Of Devan. She had really been afraid that the blonde was going to steal Woody's heart.

They had talked about it, one night, late at the Pogue, after a few too many beers. She had assumed that eventually she and Woody would end up together. Devan had clouded the picture. She wasn't sure of anything anymore, she told Garret. "Woody told me he would always be there for me," she said. "I guess I never thought he might change his mind."

Garret had looked at her soulfully. "You need to tell him how you feel, Jo. Before too much time passes and the fire burns out before he even knows there is a flame there." He wasn't too sure how it happened, but he thought he knew when. It was close to the time Devan was to leave and she and Woody had been spending quite a bit of time together. Until her last week. Garret had given her some time off for interviews at other morgues and some time to pack up her things. So it happened that one night, when Jordan was working the night shift, Woody came in to check up on some cases. He had gone to her office. She had evidently told him at some point, because Garret had walked in on them in mid-kiss, and they had been too preoccupied to notice. He had politely coughed and knocked on the door. Twice, as a matter of fact, before he got there attention. Woody had turned beet red Jordan couldn't string two coherent thoughts together for the next two hours.

Garret chuckled and looked at the time on the television set. An hour and a half had passed since Jordan was admitted. And not a word from the surgeon. Nervously, he got up from his seat and went over to the nurses' station.

"What did she say?" Woody asked, when the ME sat down again.

"She said there had been some complications, but it was nothing life-threatening. The doctor should be out soon to talk with us."


	2. Her Eyes

**Chapter Two**

_Complications? What in the hell does that mean?_ Thought Woody, as he began to pace again. What was taking so much time?

The waiting was killing him. Slowly, but surely, with each tick of the clock, it was killing him. He had too much at stake here for anything to happen. Too much at stake with his mind and soul.

Too much at stake with his heart.

She had it, you know. His heart, that is. She had it for a long time. As a matter of fact, she had him from her first hello. He had been fascinated by her. Her mind, her spunk, her knowledge of forensics.

The tragedy that shaped her life held his special attention, because it mirrored so much of his own. No mother. No father. All each one of them had in the past was themselves to depend on. But not now. Now they had each other.

Jordan had worn her past on her sleeve. It was apparent and as big as a train wreck. He hadn't been so open about his past. His mother's cancer. His father's murder. Jordan had never suspected. Not once. Until one night, when he had gone to the bar to help her close up and walk her to her car. She had been in the back, working and didn't know he had come in. She came out later, thinking everyone had gone home. When she emerged from her office, she had been crying, and was surprised to see Woody. He had been concerned about her tears. He had held her and gently dried her face, asking her what was wrong. In a moment of un-Jordan-like weakness, she had confessed how much she missed her father, how she didn't know where he was....and how lonesome she felt. He had just held her and let her cry for a while, and told her how he knew just what she was feeling. She had pulled back out of his arms and asked how could he? It was then, in quiet voices and sometimes whispers to fight off the tears, that he had told her all about his mother's death and his father's murder – that his dad had been a cop, too, and was shot in the back.

How his life had never been the same....about Cal....about not really having any home any more...until now. How Boston had become his home....and how she made it seem warm. Made him want to stay.

She had blushed and said she had no idea...how sorry she was for him...and for herself. He had just held her longer, neither one of them wanting to let go of the other...somehow being together then had made everything easier...just for that moment.

Woody checked his wristwatch again. Two hours. Two hours had passed since she went upstairs for surgery. When would they know anything?

When would he get to hold her again?

* * *

"Any word on Jordan?" Nigel asked, as he entered the emergency room and sat down with Woody and Garret.

"None. It's been about two hours, so it should be soon," Garret replied.

"I hope so. I don't know how much more of this I can take," Woody quietly said.

"She'll be fine, mate. She's a strong lass. It's just a matter of time before the doctor comes out and tells us all is well," Nigel answered.

Time...there it was again. Woody was getting more than weary of waiting. His stomach felt leaden and his head had a dull roar in it. He hurt...mentally and physically. And not for the first time concerning Jordan.

He had taken a lot from the lady. He had been shot at, tasered, blasted with bug spray, and driven to distraction. He had nearly pulled all of his hair several times, over her. She wouldn't follow orders. More specifically, she wouldn't follow _his_ orders. More than once, when they had been out on a case together, he had told her to "stay put – stay right where you are," only to find a few minutes later either she was right behind him or had moved off the screen of his visibility.

And nearly gotten hurt or killed. Or rescued his butt from a world of trouble.

And he couldn't be mad at her, no matter what. No matter how hard he tried. One look at her eyes and he'd melt. That was one of his problems. Her eyes. Those eyes. Those eyes that could be honey-colored when she was playful, or as warm as whiskey when she was in deep thought.

Or turn nearly as dark as chocolate with passion.

It was that last color that had gotten his attention lately. This past weekend, as a matter of fact. It had been the usual date for them on Fridays...she'd get off work and go to the bar. She always worked Friday nights. He'd go home, change, do his grocery shopping and whatever, showing up at the bar between nine and ten. Only last Friday night, he was late. He didn't get there until almost closing time. Jordan didn't say anything, but just gave him a look. He thought she was mad at his tardiness. After everyone had left, she had told him, "No. I wasn't mad because you were late. Everybody runs behind sometimes. I was worried that something had happened to you." And she gave him such a look of meek rebuke that he felt two inches tall. She had worried. About him.

"I'm sorry," he had said. "I should have called...I just didn't think..."

She had shaken her head. "No, you didn't...because you didn't know I'd worry. But I do. Worry that is. A lot. About you. When you go out on a call – are you wearing Kevlar? Who's backing you up? Are they any good? I worry, Woody. I worry about you."

He had been surprised at her heartfelt admission. He was even more surprised at the slight tremor that edged her voice. He had helped her close, wiping down the tables and sweeping the floor. When they finally finished, he had walked her to her car. "So...can I make it up to you — the being late and not calling?" he asked. She had raised an eyebrow at him, giving him a questioning look. "I was thinking maybe breakfast?"

She had sighed and leaned against him. "That sounds wonderful. But I am honestly just too tired, Wood. It's been a hell of a week, and all I can think of is sleep. I'm afraid I wouldn't be very good company."

On impulse he had said, "Then come back to my apartment and sleep. When you wake up, I'll cook breakfast."

To his surprise, she agreed. "That sounds good," she replied and followed him home in her car. He had gotten them both upstairs and she immediately laid down on the couch and fell fast asleep. He had covered her with a blanket and had thoughts about putting her with him in his bed, but decided against it. That might make things uncomfortable for her. So they both had slept until nearly dawn the next morning when a thunderstorm had rolled through.

Woody had no clue that Jordan was afraid of thunderstorms. Not until he heard her get up...and look out the window. He had gone to check on her...only to find her frightened. He persuaded her to come to bed with him so she wouldn't be by herself..._A few hours of holding her would be a nice way to start the day,_ he had thought. She had climbed in his bed and snuggled close. Eventually they both woke back up to a tangle of legs, and an acute awareness of each other. She was nearly on top of him. He had grinned up at her and dared her to kiss him good morning.

A dare was as good as the deed with Jordan. She had leaned down to brush her lips against his, something he was sure she meant to be a brief caress, that almost immediately turned into something hotter than either of them intended. He had slid one of his hands up to cradle her head, holding her to him, and the other slid around her waist...and suddenly the storm outside was forgotten, as the one inside took over their consciousness.

And when it was over, he was afraid he had ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him. He had kissed her and pulled away from her, still struggling to catch his breath. She had gazed up at him and ran her fingers through his hair. Her eyes...her eyes had been dark...the same color as rich chocolate, and just as sweet. He couldn't help himself. He had whispered, so low that he wasn't sure she even heard it, "I love you, Jordan."

She had sighed, pulled his face down to hers and said, "I love you, too."

And breakfast was forgotten until well after lunch time.

Woody checked his wristwatch one more time. Two and a half hours.


	3. Three Hours and Counting

**Chapter Three**

Nigel watched Woody with amusement. As men go, Nigel had always pegged Woody as a patient man. God knows he had waited on Jordan long enough. But he guessed, when critical things are at stake....like her life, her health, patience is not necessarily a solid Wisconsin small town virtue.

Kewuanne. Woody came from a town called Kewuanne. He bet you could fit that small town into Boston more than a dozen times. And Woody had been a small town boy. Key words there – had been. You'd never know he was once a young, green detective. Nope. Not a chance. He had quickly acclimated to Boston, to its police department, to the morgue, to its staff.....and of course, to Jordan.

Jordan. The anti-Woody. Jordan had grown up in Boston. Then bounced from large city to large city until she finally ended up in LA. And then returned to Boston. She was a city girl – full of brass and brash and sophistication. You'd think she eat up a naïve man like Woody – chew him up and spit him out.

But she didn't. Nigel had soon discovered the detective could more than hold his own against the lady. And Jordan quickly learned she couldn't run over Woody – at least not without dire consequences. More than once he had found them nose to nose arguing over a case...a scrap of evidence...a fingerprint...a technique....

Or whether Jordan had illegally entered a crime scene without a warrant. Or whether Woody was being narrow-minded and not considering all the evidence.

Nigel always knew Jordan had a "thing" for cops. She admitted it. Never denied it. And while she dated them before when she lived in Boston, once she had returned from LA, she seemingly had sworn them off. In fact, it seemed she had sworn off men in general, rarely dating. Rarely doing anything more after work than hanging out with the morgue staff.

Until Woody entered the picture. The big six-foot plus man took up residence on the end barstool of the Pogue and kept the lady entertained while she tended bar. He had captured her attention and in the end, captured her heart.

And Jordan had fought it. Nigel had seen her struggle with it. He had teased her about it nearly mercilessly. And it wasn't until he knew Jordan's heart was fully engaged that he eased up, because he watched her deal with knowledge that she was falling in love. "I can't do this, Nige," she confided, "I might get hurt. I might hurt him. It's just too hard."

Nigel had hugged her and told her to just go with her feelings. He couldn't imagine anything happening to her or Woody, because the detective had confided to him he had the same feelings for Jordan. The two were in love and side stepping the issue all over the place. Nigel had been ready to lock both of them up in the supply closet until they had talked it out. As a matter of fact, he had Bug had worked out a plan to do so...with Lily a co-conspirator.

Then he wasn't sure what happened. But one Monday morning, she had come into work, relaxed and smiling. He had commented on her attitude when she came into his office. "If I didn't know better," he had said, "I would swear you have the smile of a woman who had been shagged...and shagged well," he teased. Then noting the blush that crept up in her cheeks, he had said, "No...."

She had grinned and turned pinker, if possible.

"Woody?"

She wouldn't say. But that afternoon, a huge bouquet of flowers was delivered to her office. Jordan had never gotten flowers. Nigel, as well as most of the morgue, quickly put two and two together, and came up with ....the answer. The detective had showed up after work to take her out, guiding her out of the building, not by holding her arm like usual, but by possessively putting his hand on the small of her back. _And Jordan let him_. Much to everyone's amazement, _Jordan let him_. She even leaned closer to him. Damn.

And it had only gotten worse. If Woody had been protective of her before, he got even more so. _Sweet Mother in the Manger, _Nigel had thought_, they are acting like a couple._

But Jordan was happy. Happier than he had ever seen her. And if Woody was the reason, then more power to him. Nigel would toast to his health any day.

He hoped he could toast to Jordan's soon. "How long has it been?" he asked Garret.

"Three hours."

* * *

Woody re-checked his watch. "What do you think the hold up is?" he asked Garret, "What could possibly be taking so long?"

"Any number of things...it may have gotten more complicated than they thought...they may have found something else..."

"I really didn't need to hear that," he replied.

Garret had never seen Woody so antsy in his life. The detective had been known to show an edge...even be impatient, but Garret had never seen him this nervous. Well, maybe once before. Before Woody and Jordan had even started dating.

It was last summer, and Garret had rented a beach house. He and Rene' had gone down for the week and invited everyone to come up for the weekend, including Woody. At this point in time, Garret knew they both had feelings for each other, but had not said anything. And in her own way, Jordan was pushing the issue. Of course, she'd never admit that, and never said it.

But her actions had shown it. She had chosen a black bikini to wear. One that accentuated parts of her that were normally never seen in the cold climate of Boston where covering the body meant survival. The boys had changed and gone down to the ocean. Jordan and Lily had lingered in the house. When Jordan finally walked down the steps to sunbathe, the gasp that Woody let out was nearly audible. It not only was a skimpy bathing suit...it was strapless. Garret had watched in helpless mirth at the reaction of all of the men...Bug, Nigel, and Woody. It got worse when she lay down on her stomach to tan and _unhooked the back of her bathing suit top_.

He honestly didn't know if Woody was going to howl first or fight off Bug and Nigel for her attention. In the end, Woody ended up on the towel beside her, rubbing oil into her back. And rehooking her bathing suit top when it was time for her to turn over.

From that moment, Garret had seen Woody's attitude change. Before, Woody had nearly taken Jordan somewhat for granted. That she would always be there...viewing her in that bathing suit had showed him that Jordan was not only beautiful, she was desirable. And that he was not the only man that would think so.

Jordan's plan had worked. Woody began to send out signals that _she_ was _his_, whether she would admit it or not. The jealous glances he gave to other detectives that worked with her, or new morgue workers that would come in, were nothing short of territorial. He did everything but beat on his chest and proclaim her his.

Garret hid a smile as he watched the detective paced the floor. If Woody was this nervous now, how would he be if they ever had kids?


	4. Times Up

**Chapter Four**

"Who's here for Jordan Cavanaugh?" asked the nurse from the emergency room desk.

Woody quickly stopped his pacing and went over to speak with the nurse, then returned to Nigel and Garret. "There going to let me up to see her," he said. "I'll be back down with news as soon as I can." And with that he rounded the corner and took the elevator up to the sixth floor – they had already admitted Jordan into a room.

The ride up was the longest Woody had ever experienced. How would he find her? What condition would she be in? God knows the lady had been in more than one tough spot in her life, beginning with her mother's murder when Jordan was 10. He hadn't been around for that one, but he could count a few more on his fingers that he had witnessed...James...Maulden...their times in LA...the intruder in her apartment....the list was fairly long. He had worried about her as much as she had worried about him...

And now, all he wanted to do was make sure she was safe, and keep her that way. If it had been possible to put the woman in some kind of protective bubble and keep trouble away from her, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

Of course, keeping Jordan away from trouble ... that was another matter. She seemed to thrive on it. Until recently. In a moment of rare quiet for the couple, she had confessed to Woody she was just a little tired of the rat race....the endless pursuit of justice that sometimes didn't come. She was ready to slow down a little...find some peace....some serenity.

Woody had been amazed. What was she saying? Was she ready to quit her job?

"No," she replied. "I don't think I'll ever quit being a voice for the victims....I just think I'm ready to release some of the inner turmoil in my own life. Maybe buy a house. Settle in. Become responsible."

_Perhaps become mine?_ he had thought, beginning to toy with the idea of looking at rings...planning a proposal. Only he didn't know how that would go now. Not until he saw her...and knew that she would be okay. He didn't want to think what he would do if she wasn't all right.

The elevator stopped and he got out on the sixth floor. He saw her surgeon at the desk.

"H...h...ow'd it go? H..h..h.ow is she?" Woody asked, so nervous that his childhood stutter was beginning to kick in.

"It went as well as could be expected. It was kind of touch and go there for a while. It was a bigger mess than we thought....It was almost too late when she got here. She'll be okay, but it's going to take time."

Woody nodded. "Can I see her?"

"Sure...she's still kind of out of it, though. Kind of comes and goes. Just don't wear her out. She needs to rest."

"I won't stay long. I just need to see her."

The doctor pointed out which room was hers. Woody rapidly walked down the hall...it seemed like this was taking forever.

But there she was. She looked so much smaller in the hospital bed....and as pale as the sheets, but still too warm and too beautiful to be a part of such a cold, sterile hospital room. He sat down in the chair beside her bed and gently took her hand. She was here...breathing on her own....although an IV was still hooked up to her arm. He softly rubbed her hand. It was small...like much of the rest of her. But he had seen those small hands do wonderfully good work...solve maddeningly difficult cases...and touch him with more compassion than he had ever known before in his life.

He remembered the times when she would know he was worried sick over a case...carrying it around in his head. She would playfully run her fingers through his hair, or better yet, knead his shoulders until the knots in the muscles loosened up. He bit his lip...or softly run them over his body when they were in bed. She had done that several times the other weekend. Gently touching him, loving him...he had hoped they could spend this weekend in much the same manner...but that wasn't going to happen. He was just thankful she was here....alive...he had been so afraid when the ambulance came and took her away. She had been in so much discomfort...and was helpless to do anything against the waves of pain that would well up and cause her to writhe. That was the first time he realized he could lose her....she may have dealt with the fact that she could lose him. After all, he was a cop. But she was a medical examiner. That was different.

Nothing could happen to her. He couldn't lose her. If he did, he wasn't sure how he would go on...he wasn't sure if he would be able to.

"Woody?" Her voice came weakly over lips...but it sounded like a philharmonic orchestra to him. In an instant he was sitting on her bed, by her side.

He brushed the hair off her forehead, tucking the unruly curls behind her ear. "What, sweetheart?"

"What time is it? How long have I been here?"

"About four hours."

She was quiet then, just looking up at him. He had been worried. She could see it in his eyes. "I'm okay," she said.

"That's easy for you to say. You've been unconscious. I've been downstairs waiting for what seemed like forever, for someone just to tell me you were okay. You can't do this to me again...I don't handle your being sick very well, Jordan. I'll just be frank with you on this one – I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you. Don't you ever....ever do this to me again. Do you understand?"

Jordan held his gaze for a minute more....seeing the tears he was trying to keep at bay. Finally, when her own eyes were growing tired of fighting to stay open, the lids began to flicker back down, but not before she whispered to him:

"Geeze, Woody....no need to get so worked up over appendicitis."


End file.
